


The Heir

by poptartypops



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-04-02 00:12:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4040038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poptartypops/pseuds/poptartypops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>DA Kink Meme:<br/>"Trevelyan is the last living heir to a wrongfully seized throne and Cullen is the trusted knight who has stuck with her since the beginning and is helping Trevelyan to reclaim the kingdom. Cullen has fallen slightly in love with Trevelyan but has never said anything. Obviously this is not how these things work." </p><p>Ratings will change in the later chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The city-state of Hasmal is not my own creation. I got part of the information about it in the World of Thedas vol. 1. Tried to stay true to geographic locations based on the World of Thedas. 
> 
> Also, I'm really excited with this fic! The other characters will be showing up soon. 
> 
> Full prompt from Kink Meme (I can't find the page anymore, I hope it's alright if I wasn't able to claim in over at Lj huhu)  
> "Trevelyan is the last living heir to a wrongfully seized throne and Cullen is the trusted knight who has stuck with him since the beginning and is helping Trevelyan to reclaim the kingdom. Cullen has fallen slightly in love with Trevelyan but, due to angst over class differences or just plain old self-esteem issues, has never said anything and plans to keep it that way. Obviously this is not how these things work."
> 
> I hope you'll let me know what you think!

The city-state of Hasmal sat at the border of the Tevinter Imperium, with the Silent Plains seemingly stretching endlessly to the North.  It was no wonder then that the city-guards of Hasmal was constantly barraged with an influx of escaped slaves from the Imperium, whose fragile scarred bodies clamoured for refuge within the city-state.  It was also situated near enough Nevarra that the gloomy atmosphere that pervaded that nation seemed to have settled like a heavy cloud over Hasmal as well.  It made for serious citizens who didn’t like much conflict – who turned a blind eye to the thousands of escaped slaves, as long there was some compensation in return for refuge. 

Usually in the form of free labor until some debt is paid.  

To Cullen, it seemed the best place to hide – for him and his charge.  They were already low on coin at this point.  They have been travelling for months now, ever since their exile from Ostwick.  But Cullen was determined to ensure that the sixteen year old girl left in his care was going to have some stability in her life. 

Hasmal was far enough from Ostwick, from that tragedy, and that new tyrant.  It was a mantra Cullen repeated to himself to assuage his paranoia.  After a week of settling in Hasmal, he has found enough materials to attempt building a small hut.  And found a piece of land that a local farmer was willing to rent.  Here they can regain their wits, Cullen thought; plan their next step without fearing assassins trailing their every move.    

“You’re thinking too much again,” the girl spoke, staring straight at him with clear blue eyes.  Her once long blonde locks now fell just past her chin in unruly layers.  His heart clenched at the sight.  This was not how her life was supposed to unfold.    

“I was just wondering what to have for dinner, your highness.” Cullen lifts one end of his lips in an attempt to smile.

She sighed and looked away, idly tracing patterns on the soft ground, “I’ll check my traps before dusk, we will probably having nug – _again_.  And you should stop calling me that,” she looked straight into Cullen’s eyes again, “I am not that title anymore.”

Cullen swallowed the indignant reply that threatened to bubble out of his lips, “Alright, _Evelyn_.” The name is strange on his tongue, and he takes it back, “Lady Trevelyan.”  He stood from his seat next to her on a stray log in their small fenced garden and picked up his axe.  There was no sound between them save the swinging of the axe cutting into lumber.  After awhile, Cullen noticed Evelyn walk away from the log.  She returned with a dead nug in tow.  The cut across the animal’s throat was rather messy, the line jagged, and the gutting was incomplete.  But Cullen remained silent as he took the animal from Evelyn.  It was only the second time she had ever killed a beast for food.  He mumbled for a knife and Evelyn handed him one.  He noticed how intently she watched him clean the animal properly and prepare it for dinner. 

“You don’t have to worry about this,” Cullen gestured to the dead nug, the peeled potatoes and the hot pot.

Evelyn smiled sadly, staring at the cooking food as she replied, “You won’t always be here to take care of me.”

“Of course I will.”

Evelyn shook her head, and he cocked his eyebrow in annoyance, “Why would you think that I’d leave –”

She looked straight into his eyes this time, as if she was searching for an answer he would have freely given her.  “I’ve lost my throne. You have no throne left to defend; you are knight of a dead king.  You’re free, Cullen.”  

Cullen swallowed the strange lump in his throat and ignored the insinuations of her statement.  He continued to cook dinner, not speaking anymore, allowing the silence to soak into their bones until their meal was ready.  He scooped the stew into a small clay bowl and pushed it into her hands. “Eat,” he said, in a tone that demanded. Then, he readied his own bowl and gathered up his resolve, “The king may be dead, your highness,” he regarded Evelyn with an unfaltering stare.  He hoped that his sincerity showed in his eyes, his voice, and his heart.

“But you are alive. And until your last breath, I am at your disposal.”   

*

It had been a perfectly normal day, Cullen thought.  He had just come home from the market with a sack full of turnips and barley heavy in his arms.  And despite the abundance of tonight’s meal, some silver still jingled in his pocket from the bounty he earned clearing the farmland in the next village of black wolves.  He was particularly excited for dinner tonight.  He planned to stew the turnips with a handful of white beans, carrots and barley just as he remembered his mother making when he was younger.    It would bring a small comfort of home. At the moment, he lived in a small village at the outskirts of Hasmal, at the very edge of the Free Marches.  The house he occupied was humble, made of sturdy wood and stone.   It was surrounded by a row of thick trees that warranted enough privacy from nosy neighbours. 

A small smile lifted the end of his lips when the familiar house came in sight.  It was a quaint thing.  And he felt rather proud of building it. A small part of the roof recently crumbled though, Cullen suddenly remembered and felt guilty that he had not given the time to repair it.   Behind the house was a small fenced garden, where a few stalks of elfroot grew.  He noticed though, as he neared the house that a row of herbs have been trampled on.  He frowned as he caught sight of a small pink nug tugging a leaf from the stalk of elfroot, threatening the stability of the plant.  Cullen growled loudly at the animal’s direction and stomped his foot as he neared, successfully scaring it away. 

He sighed after the exertion, feeling the faint throb of a headache starting to bloom at the base of his neck.  

He reached the door and pressed his palm against the rough wood, pausing.  The house was silent, empty – which was odd at dusk.  Cullen pushed down the tinge of disappointment that crawled up his belly.  He had been gone almost a fortnight – four days spent travelling between villages and three days chasing down vicious wolves – and on the road home, he kept daydreaming of a warmer homecoming than this.  He hoped that at least the inside was cleaned regularly when he was gone.  With a small sigh, he pulled a key from under his mail and pushed it against the knob only to find it already unlocked.

“Of all the irresponsible things – ” his grumblings were cut short when the metallic smell of blood filled his nostrils.  He drew his sword and pushed the door fully open in heartbeat – the sack of vegetable lay bruised and forgotten on the floor.  His mouth turned into sand and the world blackened around him when he was met with an empty room – save for a body lying on the floor.  Cullen quickly stepped out of the house, eyes scanning the vicinity with barely controlled rage.   But there was no one around him.  The nearest road was behind the thick row of trees, and there were no suspicious shadows lurking within the branches of the old oaks. 

Quickly, he regretted taking his time in the market.  Cullen returned to the body lying on the far corner of the small house.  He felt blood drain away from his body as he checked the slain Mabari.  The hound had a large cut across from his neck extending towards his middle.  A wound from a dagger, Cullen thought, his mind racing at the implications of the attack.  He tried to calm down, but he could not suppress the incessant buzzing of panic threatening to overwhelm him as he ran his hand across the blood crusted fur.  The hound’s body was barely cold, which meant that the attack had happened not too long ago.

_If only he came home first before going to the market._

Cullen clenched his fists and strode across the room in search for other clues.  There was an abandoned quill on the desk, lying on top of a piece of parchment now soaked black form the inkwell that had toppled over.  Cullen took the paper and hoped fervently that there would be _something_ that would make sense of this madness.  He crumpled the parchment in his hand and hissed in frustration.  The folding screen that divided stood between the table and the single bed roll was slashed down the middle.  Cullen saw a familiar dark blue cloak lying atop the bed roll.   His heart stopped at the sight of blood dying the edge of the cloak black.  He took the cloak and the dagger he found lying under it and fled the house.

A part of him waited until the nightmare dissolved.

He fled into the village, with fear – cold and unforgiving as he’d never known – driving each hurried step forward.  Where does he start searching?  

“ _Maker, take me._ ”

Evelyn was missing.          


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and kudos! <3

In the months they’ve spent hiding away in Hasmal, tonight was the first that Evelyn hated the city that harbored them. 

The rain was relentless.   It splattered loudly against the stone roofing of the tiny house and started to leak between the crevices.  A raindrop left a wet mark next to Evelyn’s pillow and she glared at it - only to shut her eyes when the thunder cackled overhead like an unsatisfied giant.  She could also hear Cullen mumbling in his sleep a few feet away from her.  The rain made it hard for her to make out the words, but tonight the usually harmless babbling was grating on her nerves.  She turned to her side, facing the tall folding screen that separated her bedroll from the rest of the house.  Beyond the gauzy material of the screen, she could make out Cullen’s sleeping form.  He was probably lying on his back, with one arm thrown over his head and another resting over his stomach. 

He started to mumble again, and Evelyn decided she would wake him.  She crept out of the ram wool blanket Cullen procured for her, stood up and peeked behind the screen divider.  She felt a tug of emotions, starting somewhere in her chest and rising slowly over the throat, as she stared at Cullen.  He had a similar blanket of ram wool covering his lower body.  It ended just below his chest, and he had one leg sticking out of it.  He was too big for the tiny bedroll he lay on.  She had insisted – futilely – that he used the new one they bought from the market – it would have been able to accommodate him better. 

She had insisted on a lot of things – mostly because it was the practical thing to do and because she had lost the luxury of her previous life – but Cullen merely waved them away with a gentle smile.   

Evelyn stepped closer and sat next to where his head was nestled between the crook of his arm, and peered down his face.  The wound over his lip was healing, but it would scar.  A reminder, he said, of his failure as a knight to protect the royal family.  It seemed like he planned to atone for it for the rest of his life. 

_Killing rams for blankets, chopping lumber, building houses... like a servant._

The thunder cackled again and Cullen shifted, for a moment Evelyn feared he would wake – she almost scrambled away – but he merely sighed and slept on, no doubt tired from the day's labor.  Suddenly, Evelyn’s eyes blurred with tears.  Cullen shouldn’t be wasting his future like this, for a girl with no name and no future of her own.  She was suddenly gripped with an ached to touch him – to trace the lines of his face, to feel the rough stubble against her palm, and the strong muscle lining his shoulders.  But she settled on gently holding on the edge of his tunic as tears finally fell of her eyes.  She couldn’t name the feelings that clawed tightly against her chest – demanding freedom – maybe guilt, or frustration, or something else entirely.   

In the months since their escape from Ostwick, she has grieved and wallowed in her lost.  And Cullen, sweet, beautiful and loyal Cullen had stayed steadfast on her side. 

Cullen mumbled again in his sleep, and Evelyn drew closer, wanting to catch a glimpse of his dreams.   

_“Amell – ”_

Evelyn awoke to pain, a hard floor and the constant rocking of a vehicle on the road.  She kept her eyes clenched shut, willing herself to sink back into the comfort of her dreams.  Her heel and shin felt raw from being dragged across the ground.  Her arms were stiffly bound to her back.  There was also a faint taste of blood from her mouth – probably from biting the inside of her cheek when her captors threw her into the caravan.  The flooring of the caravan was cool at least, she thought with reluctant relief.  It was lined by a threadbare cotton rag that was soft against her cheek.  With a grunt, Evelyn tried to move, swinging her arms to one side to lie on her back – it was uncomfortable, but she could breathe better. 

She should have burned them where they stood.  Waved her fingers and unleashed the power she knew lurked in her veins.  But the thought was hazy at most, and not fueled with anger or any sense of self-preservation she ought to have been feeling.  She had been taught for almost ten years now to only suppress her magic, and it did not even enter her mind to even use it to defend herself.  She wasn’t even sure she could call it at will.

She was pathetic.

There was a soft rustling of fabric and Evelyn’s eyes snapped open.  Panic bubbled in her chest – she shouldn’t have assumed she was alone.  But the man sitting to her right merely stared at her.  There was some light coming in from the gap between the barred doors of the caravan, though Evelyn could barely make out the features of the man.  She could only see that he had short brown hair, with the side of his head shaved.  And dark eyes she couldn’t fathom.  But immediately she scrambled to the opposite end of the small space, pressing her knees against her chest and staring at the stranger with wide, fearful eyes, her throat dry.  She wanted to demand his identity, to demand information, but her throat closed and her tongue seemed to shrivel like a dead leaf.

“I won’t hurt you.”

The words were not at all comforting despite the soft, quiet tone.  It was the same tone she first used when she found a wounded animal in the streets of Hasmal almost two years ago now.  She remained silent and hoped that the stranger did not hear her frantic heart.  “Who –”

“Not one of them,” the man continues to talk in the soft, low tone.  He gestured her to remain quiet with a finger against his mouth.   “They tied me up even after I broke my shoulder, heartless cunts,” he explained as his eyes flickered towards his right shoulder, and then towards his right leg, “Fixed it the best I can, but they hit me good on my thigh too,” he added before mumbling to himself, “The Chief would be ashamed...”

“Who?” Evelyn croaked.  But for someone who seemed to have sustained worse injuries than her, he didn’t look a bit worried.    

“What’s your name?” the man’s eyes slid back to meet hers as he spoke.  They bore into hers intently, even though the tone of his voice bordered on boredom.  It was as if they were meeting at one of her father’s grand balls instead of being stuck in a piss-smelling caravan going Maker knows where.  A familiar spike of annoyance started to spread warmth across Evelyn’s chest and she narrowed her eyes at him. 

“Why are you here?” she countered in a harsh whisper, finally regaining some of her wits.  She only hoped she sounded more threatening than she looked at the moment. 

The man pursed his lips together and continued to regard her intently.  The air around them seemed to still and Evelyn could feel a new wave of fear.  He was probably contemplating whether or not to stick his leg against her throat until she couldn’t breathe anymore.  

“I’m a mercenary,” he finally answered, voice still low but he spoke quicker now, “I was tasked to secure a shipment in Hasmal to the North, our Orlesian employer was very specific to see to it that the transaction goes through.  Turned out to be some deal with slavers,” he jerked his thumb towards the direction of the caravan drivers, “They didn’t appreciate it when I turned my blade on them.”

“I don’t believe this,” Evelyn swallowed the lump in her throat, her mind stuck on _slavers_ , “Then why are you here? With me...?”

“Well, princess, it seems like you’re worth even more than a Qunari’s weight in gold,” the man said as he leaned forward towards her, stopping only when their knees bumped together and his face was close enough that Evelyn could smell the ale on his breath.  She can see his eyes were dark brown with flecks of gold from this distance.  The man tilts his lips in a smirk, “The name’s Krem.  I don’t know what got into me that I jumped after you and landed myself in deep shit.  But I plan to get myself out of it.  I just hope you’re thinking along the same lines.”   

Krem fished out a knife from his boot and cut through her ropes without breaking eye contact.  It was only then that she noticed he had freed himself from his own bindings.  Maker, that man was fast.  

“I suppose you are quite pretty,” he said in a tone that seemed like he was trying to convince himself. 

Evelyn blushed from indignation.  What the hell is wrong with this man? “Do you even have plan?” she hissed at him, “You don’t even look like you could walk properly.”

He could feel the buzz of adrenaline warming his veins, “All the more fun, won’t it?”

Evelyn glared at him, pursed her lips then grabbed his hand.  His eyes widened slightly with surprise – so maybe he not crazy street rat, Evelyn decided.  “What –”

“Shut up,” Evelyn glared at him before pulling at his tunic to reveal his bruised shoulder.  He hissed in pain and went rigid.  Evelyn held her breath, “Do you trust me?” she asked frantically, eyes darting back and forth Krem’s face and his shoulder. 

“That depends, are you going to kiss it better?” his flat tone was back and his shoulders loosened. She took that as permission enough.

Evelyn put her right hand over his shoulder and released the breath she was holding.  Closing her eyes and letting a wave of magic trickle out her fingertips before she could second guess herself.  Krem gave a low whistle when he understood what she was doing.  When his shoulder was healed, he nodded approvingly and presented his thigh.  Evelyn glared at him first, then proceeded to heal the nasty cut. 

“A mage royalty.  I just lost a bet,” Krem whispered in disbelief, “You really are full of surprises princess,” he gave her smirk as he crawled towards the caravan door.  There was also a lock pick hiding in his boot, apparently.  “There are about eight heavily armed soldiers escorting the caravan, not counting the driver” he said as he worked the lock, “I’m guessing that we’re headed to Nevarra in attempt to cross to Orlais.  I’ll take out the two riding behind,” he looked thoughtfully at her, “I think they’ll be quiet surprised by you.”

“What should I do then?” her hands were already shaking as she asked.  She had trained with a sword when she was younger, like her brothers, but was never any good at them.  Not that they had any weapons now.  She had only had her magic that she had never used more than lighting candles when she felt mischievous. 

 Krem grinned at her, a grin that had her realize that this was a man who has killed before.  And that before this night was over; she would be a killer as well.

“ _Burn them_.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It currently seems a bit far off from the prompt huhu, but I promise we'll get there! I hope you guys will find this chapter interesting! I wanted to develop more of Evelyn's character here to really flesh out her growth in the later chapters. I really wanted to write Krem! I hope I gave his character some justice. 
> 
> Also some clarifications: there are no templars/circles in this AU, but mages are still looked down on in noble bloodlines in the Free Marches. 
> 
> Would love to hear your thoughts!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Krem fumbles a bit.

Evelyn could not look away from the great blaze roaring the in front of her.  The flames danced all around like nymphs from the old tales – wild, relentless and _seductive_.  It started as a tiny spark on the slaver’s leather armor, almost like a shy caress, before the flames engulfed him like a hungered lover.  She almost did not register the shrill scream that erupted from the burning body as she watched with sick fascination what her magic was capable of.  She could not move her body.  It was as if she was watching this scene unfold somewhere far away, and the imminent danger faded from her mind.  

One of the three burning slavers had dropped his dagger.  He rolled on the ground, screaming for the Maker’s mercy.   Then the scent of burning flesh hit her, scorching her lungs, making her eyes water. 

Evelyn almost wished the flames would eat her too.

Krem was busy taking down an archer when he noticed Evelyn standing frozen in front of a charred man.  She was looked down on the blackened flesh, looking almost like a corpse herself.  Krem tamped down the slight annoyance that bubbled up at her show of weakness, reminding himself that she was a child who probably has never even hurt a nug.  He sighed under his breath and knew that the annoyance was mostly directed to himself and his inability to abandon her to save his own ass. 

Which he should have done hours ago.

“Behind you!” he yelled when he caught sight of a slaver running towards Evelyn with a sword raised above his head.  The man was also burning – smoke rose from armor and a crazed look in his eyes.  Evelyn’s wide eyes snapped towards Krem’s.  He was too far to make out the fear that colored them.  But the maelstrom of emotions swirling inside her triggered made her use of magic instinctual – and immediately, the air around her froze, and gigantic shards of ice spiked out from the ground all around her, creating a wall of ice.  Her attacker effectively impaled.   

Krem let out a small sigh as he ran towards her, though he couldn’t suppress the shiver that shot down his spine at the display of power.  But he pushed those thoughts away for reflection – hopefully later. 

The soles of his boots were sticky with blood, and his right eye stung from the sweat tricking down his forehead.  They had taken care of their immediate enemies, but he had no doubt that the ruckus they’ve caused has caught the attention of the escorting caravans.  She stood within her own cage of ice even as he neared, staring down her feet with the wide horrified eyes.  Her skin was paler than all the fresh fallen snow Krem has seen, her lips were turning blue, her breaths coming in white puffs and teeth chattering. 

Krem felt his throat close up at the sight, and he sighed under his breath. Why did he feel like he had kicked a stray kitten when he meant to save it? 

He bent his knees, angling his head in an attempt to meet her downcast eyes.  “Hey,” he called in a soft voice, but she didn’t seem to hear. 

“Princess,” he tried again, consciously attempting to be patient despite every fighter’s instinct screaming at him that this was not the time to spoil the girl with gentle words.  But her eyes flickered up to him this time, bright with tears, and sorrow and guilt that reminded Krem far too much of his own memories from another lifetime. 

His lips lifted in a small smile as he held his hand out to her, “Come on, I’ll protect you.”      

*

One of the slaver’s horses had galloped to a safe distance during the squabble and Krem found it nosing through a shrub of berries.  He whistled under his breath, seemed like the Maker felt like being helpful tonight.  “Let’s go,” his urged, catching Evelyn by the arm and tugging her forward to the animal.  The horse eyed them warily as they approached, but it resisted little as Krem pulled on the reins and mounted it.

“Come on,” Krem held out his hand, helping Evelyn settle behind him wordlessly.  “Hold tight,” he says softly, securing her arms around his waist.  He turned to look at her when she didn’t reply, “Still with me princess?”

Blue eyes flickered towards his, the moonlight glinting eerily off them.  Evelyn nodded, “Where are we headed?” she asked and Krem seemed satisfied with that reply and urged the horse into a gallop.  

“Away from here,” he eyed the thick patches of trees towering around them, “We’ll have to get out of this forest first, and then find out where in Andraste’s ass we are.”

They eventually found a tavern in a small farming village.  They had abandoned their horses at the edge of the forest and took to the village gates on foot.  Evelyn pulled a thin necklace from around her neck and handed it to Krem, “Use this, it should be worth at least a few nights and warm food.”

Krem regarded her, almost deciding against it at the sight of the tears rimming her eyes.  But a safe room was their best bet in this unfamiliar town.  And she’s realized that.  “Wait here,” he said, closing his palm around the necklace and walking into the tavern.  The owner drew a hard bargain, but Krem secured them a private room for the night and a platter of meat. 

They took a small table at a corner, against the cold plaster wall.  There was a short lit candle on the table, and for a moment it almost felt like they had earned respite.  He presented the food to Evelyn, who wolfed down her half with unladylike speed.  She seemed almost satisfied.  The rims of her eyes were not red anymore, and she was looking around the tavern curiously – as if it was her first time to be in one.

“Krem - ”

He spotted them the same time she did. There were three men clothed in full armor entering the bustling tavern.  The headgear kept their faces from view, but it was clear from the ensign around their right arm that they were from the same faction of slavers they’ve just escaped from.  The other patrons barely noted the presence of the slavers, who now have separated into the crowd.  They scanned the room warily, clearly in search for someone. 

Krem swore lengthily under his breath, his hand coming to grip Evelyn’s arm.  She squeaked in surprise at the intensity of Krem’s hold.  She could feel his calloused finger digging into her arm as he kept his eyes darting between the slavers.  It would cause too much commotion if they suddenly stood up and left. Despite the activity in the tavern, it was not a particularly exciting night where sudden movements would go unnoticed.  It didn't help that the tavern keeper seemed to be keeping snails as hired help to prepare their room. 

One of the men standing two tables away from them glanced their way and Evelyn’s heart literally stuck in her throat. She couldn’t breathe, and couldn’t avert her eyes even though her mind screamed for her to do so.  The soldier’s eyes searched the faces of the patrons behind her.  He squeezed his way through sticky bodies towards them, eyes sharp and fingers itching for a fight.  The armored man almost neared them when Krem whirled back to face her, brows furrowed together as he whispered, “Trust me.”

Evelyn was about to attempt to reply when the hand on her arm tugged her violently forward and Krem covered her mouth with his.  Evelyn’s mind turned a new kind of blank – it felt like a heavy white pile of snow had suddenly fallen on top of her head.  She was half sprawled on top of Krem, unmoving.  Their noses had bumped quite painfully and she could smell a faint tinge of blood.  But Krem moved a hand to her hair, making her unable to move even if she regained the capacity to try.  He shifted their bodies without disengaging his lips from her, until she was pressed against the wall and his body hovered above hers. 

“Ain’t it too early for bed sport chap?” A gruff voice asked behind Krem.

Evelyn felt Krem let out a long breath, steadying himself before turning his head back a fraction – just enough to face the questioning man, but keeping Evelyn under the shadow of his body.  “Find yourself your own whore, mate,” he replied steadily, with enough heat in his eyes to threaten, and was tempered only with a playful quirk of his lips. “Had to starve a few days to buy this one.”

The soldier stared at him coldly, then finally released an amused bellow, “Well you better fuck her until your balls give.”        

 Krem released her then, when it seemed that the soldiers had given up their search and left.  He straightened, leaned back into his seat and coughed into his hand, finding himself unable to look into the young girl’s eyes.  Evelyn on the other hand seemed fascinated with the stains on her dress.

Was she even of age? He coughed into his hand again.  Maker’s breath – this was not how he imagined his ruffian life to pan out. And that the girl’s – _the princess’s_ \- lips were even drier and rougher than his, doubly tightened the growing knot in his stomach.

“Right, that was - ” he started when the tavern boy tugged on Krem’s coat timidly, interrupting him.

Krem turned away from Evelyn, his eyes narrowing in annoyance, color still high in his cheeks “What?”

“Master said your room is ready,” he said, then scampered away.  

Evelyn raised her eyes to his.  Her face was blotchy, though it did not seem like she was about to start a scene.  “Thank you for saving my life,” she murmured.

Krem held her eyes, assessing her, and honestly trying to make sense of the situation he had gotten himself into.  Well, too late for second thoughts now.  A kiss was far from a proposition, but the sense of responsibility weighed on his chest annoyingly felt like he’d done a whole lot more than awkwardly mashing their closed lips together.

He sighed to himself in resignation, and drew Evelyn against his chest, hiding most of her face with his body.  They walked briskly – with Evelyn tensed awkwardly - up the second floor of the tavern and to the end of the hall where a small room had been cleaned out for them.  There was a narrow bed and a single table with a stick of candle burning.  There was a musky scent that lingered though, but Evelyn didn’t want to dwell too much on it.  Krem looked the door behind him when they entered and walked to the other end of the room in two long strides.  Evelyn watched him poke his head out of the window, looking left and right and noting with satisfaction the narrow balcony outside that would facilitate escape if it became necessary. 

Evelyn felt particularly useless, standing in the middle of the tiny room and eyeing the single narrow bed.  “You can sleep on the bed.”

Krem snorted at her suggestion and turned to face her when he was satisfied with surveying the surroundings, “Don’t try to be cute.” The dim glow of the candle drew harsh lines across his cheeks.

The spike of annoyance was a welcomed feeling that lessened the weighing awkwardness between them. “Fine,” Evelyn kicked off her shoes and lay down on the bed, turning to face the door so that she wouldn’t see Krem bustling about his corner.  She closed her eyes, and the memory of what had happened earlier rushed back to her with stark detail that made her heart pound and her face hot.

She sat up suddenly, the movement drawing Krem’s attention.  He raised a petulant brow at her, as if daring her to question him further.  Even though he didn’t look any more comfortable than she felt.  Then Evelyn grabbed the lumpy pillow and threw it to his direction before he even spoke.  It hit him square on the face, Evelyn noted smugly.

That made things even.        

Evelyn drew the thin blanket around her shoulders and lay back down on the bed, drawing her knees towards her chest.  She licked her lips, which still tingled unusually, “What will happen tomorrow, Krem?”

Krem drew his surcoat over his head, folded them carelessly and ran a hand through his hair, “We wait for my friends.”

 _Friends_.  The word made Evelyn feel warmer, and she fell asleep with an image of a familiar blonde warrior with kind eyes and a shy smile, extending out his hand towards her.  Her heart clenched, _how will I find you?_  

Now the tears started to prick her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our baby Cullen is appearing again real soon! (like in the next chapter soon)
> 
> Thank you for everyone who has supported this story so far! :-)


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